His Stolen Bride BN (31 page)

Guilford responded with a nod. “I sense something else troubles you.”

He cursed his grandfather’s perceptions. How could his elder know so much so quickly?
Had Kieran told the old man about his suspicions of love? Pray God, nay. “’Tis naught.”

“Naught had you clinging to your wife like a babe clutches its mother as you entered
the room?” he challenged. “Come now. I may be an old man but not so old that I do
not recognize affairs of the heart. You care for her, do you not?”

Drake faltered for words, struggling to explain what he could not. “Our marriage…took
an unexpected turn.”

“Ah, Kieran speaks true. You do love her,” he deduced. “Praise be! I never thought
to see this day.”

Drake regarded his grandfather with a probing stare, willing him to understand. “I
love no woman. ’Tis simply that Averyl is intelligent and of good heart, as well as
deserving of a life better than either her father or I can grant.” He looked away.
“I would simply see her safe from further harm.”

“Including thus from your hard heart, Drake? Do you believe that she loves you, then?”

He paused, wanting to end the conversation. But Guilford would only pry the truth
from him anyway. “So she says.”

“And you do not believe her, despite her admittedly good heart?”

“’Tis no more than a foolish girl’s notion, one she will outgrow soon enough.”

Guilford nodded in consideration as he rose and walked to the fire, boots heavy against
the wooden floor. “Does believing thus make it easier for you to deny your own feelings?”

Drake drew in an impatient breath. “I do not deny that I have come to care about her
welfare.”

“And more, I daresay. I remember hearing similar denials from Aric not long ago…”
He shot Drake a skeptical glance from across the room.

“Their marriage was a different circumstance.”

“Aye, instead of Gwenyth forced to the altar, they both were. What of it?” he demanded.
“Drake, love would bring peace to your life. At last, you have a woman worthy of your
affection. Why not embrace her?”

Gritting his teeth, he replied, “Her life is in danger, and I swore to exact vengeance
upon my father’s grave. I will not sacrifice either to chase some foolish sentiment.”

The old man paused, templing his hands beneath his chin. “Drake, your father, of all
people, would have encouraged you to seize love whilst the opportunity is yours.”

“Such love bought him nothing but despair and death.”

“Do you think he was the only one hurt?”

Drake frowned, and Guilford continued, “Did no one ever tell you the story of your
conception?”

Irritation coiled into his gut. “I assumed I was conceived in the manner of every
other child. I am sorry to say it thus, but Diera was hardly the Virgin Mary.”

Guilford smiled. “In some ways, you are wrong. Lochlan was quite enamored with your
mother. She did not return his feelings.” The other man paused, frowning. “I loved
your mother. She was my daughter, after all. But I knew her shortcomings. And her
greatest one was that she was fickle.

“She was a woman grown. In her mind, she could do as she pleased. When she met your
father, the attraction was instant, and they soon became lovers.”

“’Tis no surprise. She granted her favors freely enough,” Drake added.

Guilford pursed his mouth into a disapproving frown. “They were together mere weeks
before your father believed himself in love with her. With his own wife dead for three
years, it seemed natural that he ask Diera to wed. She refused that time and many
others, though she continued as his leman.”

Drake frowned. “Why would she refuse a position of honor with a powerful chief?”

“Because your father demanded absolute control over everything and everyone about
him, and Diera believed that control could not extend to her unless she wed him.”

Knowing that Lochlan had always said control was his biggest ally, Drake froze, somehow
dreading these next words.

“When another handsome Scot, a MacDuff, I believe, caught your mother’s eye, she tried
to leave your father. He refused to relinquish her, despite her wishes, then locked
her in his chamber. He refused to allow her to leave Dunollie. He restricted her visitors
to women friends and family members.”

Drake tensed in his chair, his hands unconsciously tightening around its arms. “My
father would not have done something so heartless! How can you slur him in death?”

“’Tis truth, Drake. Why else would your father come here to help fight my battles
over the years, if not to atone, to assuage his guilt?”

Drake had always assumed Lochlan fought because of his respect for Guilford, but now…

“And even after your father’s attempts to keep Diera, she still refused to wed.” With
a heavy sigh, Guilford continued. “’Twas then your father decided that, should she
conceive, she would be forced to marry him. Eventually, he got her with you.”

“My father forced her to bear me?” Cold disbelief sliced through him.

Guilford gave a sharp nod. “He made certain she had no way to prevent conception and
seduced her repeatedly until the deed was done.”

Drake gaped, his mind racing. His own father, so selfish? Why? Guilford’s description
hardly sounded like the honorable man he’d known. Yet his grandfather would never
lie. Which left him to wonder, if his father had truly loved Diera, how could he have
forced his dominance upon her without a care for her wishes?

“So she finally wed him,” Drake said softly, frowning.

“She had little choice, for she could not bear the dishonor to our family. Thus sated,
your father continued to keep her under lock and key, then ordered her to be a proper
mother.”

“Which she was not.”

“Nay, she was not, but surely you see that she acted out of anger and spite. She told
me once that she wanted to love you, but that you reminded her too much of your sire.”

Drake sighed tiredly, pondering the ramifications of this tale. Had he known of his
father’s cruelty, he might have understood Diera’s rejection and spite, perhaps made
peace with her before her death. As it was, there was much left unsaid between them,
most notably these facts.

“What does this have to do with Averyl?”

“Your father’s unreturned love cost him his peace and your mother her life. She wanted
to die; in fact, willed herself to die to escape the pain, the loneliness. Would you
want to inflict the same damage on Averyl?”

“If not for Murdoch, I would never treat my wife as a prisoner.”

“Desertion is but another prison, Drake. If you have any love for Averyl, embrace
her.”

Drake gritted his teeth, confronted by words he felt unprepared to face. “If this
were a simple situation, I would consider what you say. But I am a bloody criminal
in my clan’s eyes. The most I could offer is dishonor, and she deserves far more than
that. ’Tis a favor I do in leaving her.”

“How noble,” drawled Guilford. “Tell yourself that. See if it keeps you content as
you grow old.”

“If Murdoch has his way, I won’t live long enough to grow old,” Drake snarled.

“You will not let him best you. ’Tis Averyl I worry for now. Drake, you have used
your wife in a very deadly game, and now you seek to abandon her like stale bread.”

His entire being rebelled against his grandfather’s words. Averyl was a treasure of
goodness, hope, passion. But Guilford was right; Averyl would feel discarded and again
unworthy. Over the years, she would grow to hate him. ’Twas a thought he could scarcely
bear, but bear it he must, for all too soon, she would be another tragedy to add to
his bleak reality.

He gave his grandfather a contrite nod. “’Tis the only way to ensure she stays alive
and out of Murdoch’s grasp. She must not die,” he all but pleaded.

Sighing, Guilford shook his head. “You are strong-willed, as was your father.”

As Drake acknowledged that with a sad smile, Guilford crossed the room to place a
comforting hand upon his shoulder. The urge to allow the old man to console him was
great, but he did not. Some sense of manly pride and a reluctance to further burden
his elder with his problems stopped Drake.

“Will you provide Averyl a safe home here?”

“Aye, and I will care for her for as long as need be.”

“Her safety means…a great deal to me. Thank you. When she turns eight and ten, she
should be safe to leave, if she wishes such, but not before.”

Guilford nodded, his expression sage. “Do you wish a few moments alone with her before
you take your leave?”

Drake feared if he did, he could not let her go. “Nay,” he answered, then whispered,
“Godspeed, my wife.”

Drake slammed his way out of the solar, anxious to be gone from Hartwich Hall—and
Averyl. Instead, he ran into a living solid wall. Startled, he looked up to find his
old friend Aric, massive hands upon his hips, scowling.

Before Aric could say aught, Drake said, “Greetings. Do you visit here from Penhurst?”

Aric scowled more. “I but pass through on my way to do the king’s bidding. I am surprised
to find you arrived.”

“Now I take my leave.”

Aric raised a disapproving blond brow. “You cannot stay to exchange words with your
friends?”

With a shake of his head, Drake angled past Aric in the narrow stone hall. “I must
be away.”

“From your wife, I presume.”

At Aric’s accusing words, Drake turned back to his mountain of a friend. “Kieran knows
not when to keep his mouth shut.”

Before he could turn away and continue on, Aric said, “He is concerned, as we all
are.”

“For no reason. I wed her to keep her from Murdoch’s reach. Now I can only wait until
she becomes eight and ten. Then Murdoch will lose our father’s money and power, and
I will kill him.”

“And what will happen to Averyl?”

Drake sighed, impatient to be away before he changed his mind, stormed back into the
solar, and claimed his wife for good. “I have just had these same words with Guilford.
Should you wish to know my plans, ask him.”

With that, Drake turned away and took long strides toward the stairs that would lead
him down…and away from the woman who could make him perish with want.

“So you do love her,” Aric called.

He stopped. “’Tis a common misconception I shall have to beat Kieran for later.”

“Then why rush to be away? If she means naught, you have no cause to run as if guilt
chases you.”

“I have Murdoch to kill,” he said, facing Aric.

“But not until she turns eight and ten, which is…when?”

Drake gritted his teeth. “February.”

“And ’tis now what, August?”

“Nearly September,” Drake bit out.

He knew the words were foolish as soon as he uttered them but knew not what else to
say. How could he explain the swirl of confusion, the reluctance to leave Averyl’s
kind heart, coupled with a grim impatience to be gone from the very distraction she
presented?

“Think you it will take six months to return to Dunollie and stab a blade into Murdoch’s
heart?”

Drake knew it would not, just as Aric knew it.

“I cannot place her in any further danger,” he defended.

“Aye, but methinks you protect your heart just as much.”

Aric’s knowing expression annoyed Drake. What did his friend know of pain in love,
in marriage? He and Gwenyth had been sublimely happy for months now. They had found
the Eden few did. Drake was unwilling to take a chance that he would be less fortunate.

“Averyl is not Gwenyth, and I am not you,” he insisted, rubbing a tired hand across
his gritty eyes.

“Nor are you your father or Averyl, Diera.”

True, and based on his grandfather’s words, Drake had known only the truth his father
had told him, a truth not entirely accurate. But Diera’s cruelty in the face of Lochlan’s
grief and love… That was forever embedded in his soul. Even if Lochlan had treated
Diera ill, why did she hurt him by bedding his elder son? Why could she not forgive
his father on her deathbed? Why had she nearly destroyed his proud soul?

“I’ll not take that chance,” he uttered, then turned away.

* * * * *

Averyl woke slowly, eyes shut against the light beyond. A sense of activity, a bustling
prosperity, assailed her ears. People chatted. Cows mooed. The bang of metal sounded.
Where were the sounds of birds and rustling leaves? She’d grown accustomed to them
in the past fortnight of sleeping outdoors.

She rolled to her side gingerly. Lingering pain from her gash stabbed her, but with
relief, she noted the ache lessened each day. Such would please Drake. For she knew
he needed to travel faster if he wished to continue to elude Murdoch, but he had not
for fear of her health.

She snuggled beneath an extraordinarily soft blanket, not caring from where it came.
For some days, she had wondered why Drake put her recovery above his escape. At first
she had hoped ’twas because he truly did care for her. Such was foolish, wishful thinking,
she knew now. His only concern was to keep his conscience free of her death. He had
told her as much only yesterday.

Frowning against the painful thought, Averyl turned to her other side, realizing suddenly
she had not hard dirt and ground beneath her but a true mattress. At that, her eyes
flew open and she regarded a well-appointed chamber of blue and gold inside an unfamiliar
keep. Alarmed, she sat up with a gasp.

“’Tis a restless sleeper you have been these past hours,” said a young woman of such
stunning beauty that Averyl gaped. “But I am glad, indeed, that you have awakened.
Mayhap now Kieran and my husband can cease their infernal pacing.”

Averyl stared at the stranger, then glanced about the unfamiliar, lavish room. “Who
are you? Where is—?” she broke off, not certain ’twas safe to mention Drake’s name.

“Drake?” The woman’s blue eyes narrowed with ire. “The hen-witted fool is gone. And
more is the pity, for I should have liked to give him a piece of my mind.”